He's Still Here
by ryderxriot
Summary: Painkillers were my best friend. And Punk was, too. Somewhere down the line. R&R PunkxOC
1. Hospitals

**A/N: I do not own the characters used in the story except my OC Ryan. My first story, so please review. I would like to hear your opinions.**** I will writing the story in her POV.**

Chapter 1

"_Go get my beer bottle.__" Her uncle shoved her towards the fridge. _

_I__ stumbled, almost hitting my head on the marble counter. I opened the fridge and grabbed the first drink my eyes came across. I feared that got the wrong one, but bravely walked back to my uncle .I showed him the label, while looking in his eyes for any signs of anger. He grabbed the bottle from my small hands and hit me across the head. I yelled, fueling my uncle's anger more. He kicked me, landing punches, in between the kicks. _

"_I'm sorry, please stop." _

_He didn't answer, but punched me harder. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for the torture to be over, but the end felt like it would never come. At last, she opened her eyes, to find her uncle passed out on the couch. I tried to get up, but my legs couldn't support me. Crawling back to what I called my room, I heard my uncle shift on the couch, and immediately stopped moving. When it seemed safe, I opened the door, finally making it to the place where I felt some security. I fell asleep on the floor, never making to the bed. I cried, knowing I would endure this pain the next day, and the next day after that._

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><p>Sterile white sheets rubbed against my skin with every move and monitors beeped every second. <em>So this is what a hospital felt like. <em>I opened my eyes and let them roam around the room. Every machine was flashing, beeping, doing whatever it could to signal it was working. And it was driving me nuts. Then my eyes wandered to the one person in the room beside me. It was _him._ He was still here. I couldn't believe it, after everything I'd try to do to myself, he was still _here._ I let my head hit against my pillow, and sighed.

Tears dared to fall, and I was doing every possible thing to not let them. I was tough, not weak. But here they were sliding down my face effortlessly, like ice skates on ice. They felt everlasting, and I looked at my wrists showing me the constant reminder of what I've been doing to myself. The slits varied in size, some of them being as long as an inch. I moved them out of my viewing, and tried to not let my cries be heard. _You, did this to yourself, Ryan._ I know I did, and I was feeling sorry for myself. Self pity wasn't gonna get me anywhere, except where I was. Movement alerted my eyes to him, and I waited for what was coming.

Punk opened his eyes, and stared at me for the longest time. No talking, just silence. I looked at the heartbeat monitor, avoiding his eyes. "Ryan."

I looked back at him, his dark green eyes boring a hole in my hazel ones. All I could do was look at him speechlessly.

"Why'd you do this to yourself?"

My lips quivered, and I arrange my features, making sure my façade was not broken. It didn't seem like it, so I went ahead and answered. "I don't know."

He sighed, knowing his questions weren't gonna get answered honestly. He just sat there, his eyes never once leaving my face. Like I didn't know what he was doing. I rolled my eyes, in frustration. I just wanted to rip these needles out of me, and run away. _Like you always do._ Yeah, I like to run away from problems, but I can handle some. This is just something…I can't.

" You know I'm here cause I care about you." Punk rubbed his eyes, in lack of sleep, and I instantly felt sorry for him.

"I know." My eyes darted downward.

"No, you don't." Why did I feel sorry for him, again? He didn't believe me.

" Yeah, I do."

"If you do, then why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

I sighed and a another tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't want to be answering his questions right now. _There you go again, running._ It was automatic for me. Why should I have to answer to him, anyway?

"You know the door's open? You can leave anytime you want." I said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Just what I needed. There he was being as stubborn as usual.

"Why are you still here?" It was my turn to ask the questions.

He shrugged his shoulders, playing with his lip ring. I sighed, that wasn't the answer I was looking for, of course. A shrug of the shoulders didn't mean anything. I looked at him again, actually watching him. He looked beyond tired and his clothes were stained. Four pepsi cans were beside him. And I thought again, this was all my fault. I do the stupidest shit in the world, and here he comes like my night in shining armor. This was beyond messed up, more like dysfunctional, but he was my best friend.

I would do just about anything for him, and he'd jump through flaming hoops for me, I never understood that. Guilt filled me up, for how he cared about me that much, and the little I did about him. I cared about him, just not the same as he did for me. But he was in this hospital room with me, sitting in the same chair he'd been, never mentioning once about when he had to leave. He gave two shits about me, and I gave one and three fourths about him.

"Why are you still here, Phil?"

He smirked." I don't know."

He enjoyed seeing my blood boil, just as I like seeing his. Awkward silence filled the air, and just to get rid of it I asked some more questions.

"How are you?"

"I should be asking you the same question."

I sighed again, knowing he had every right to ask his questions, while I just stood on defense.

"Punk, what do you want from me?"

"Why you keep doing this to yourself." He said it, plain and simple.

"I don't know."

I couldn't tell him, he would hate me. If he ever found out, our friendship would be over. But keeping the secret from him, was just as painful as telling him. He would never know, he couldn't know. But if this happened again, he'd be sitting in the same chair, asking me the same questions. That is something I will never be able to answer, and I think he couldn't either.

TBC? Read and review please.


	2. Bullets

**Sorry for the expected hiatus. Hope you guys like the second chapter.**

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><p>"Don't worry about me, just enjoy yourself, Punk." I said, he dropped me off at my house, I forgot he was going back on the road today.<p>

"I'll try."

"Well, bye." I exited the car, walking towards my door.

"Ryan, wait." I turned around, and Punk had exited the car and was standing in front of me, hands in his pockets.

I fast walked to him and let me envelope me in his arms, taking his sweat and cologne odor, his chin on my light brown hair. I let him go, giving him a convincing smile that I was going to be fine. I walked up the couple steps to the house, not looking behind me. I lifted the 'welcome' carpet for the key and fished it out. I entered the house, a smell I wasn't completely adjusted to. I slammed the door and went to the living room, my eyes stopped on the body sitting attentively on my couch.

"What are you doing here?"

"Where were you?" He responded, his eyes squinting a bit.

"I was in the hospital, for your information." I sat on the chair beside him, not wanting to get to close to him, not sure of what he might do.

"Aww, overdose, am I right?" I shot my head to look into his steely blue eyes, my eyes wide open.

"How did you know?"

"Ryan, how stupid do you think I am? All those prescription bottles were laying around here, and you thought I wouldn't see it. Or maybe that Punk wouldn't?" Randy said, standing up, straightening his coat.

I looked down, my anger rising, but obviously there was nothing I could do to the imbecile standing in front of me. He smirked gingerly, at me, knowing Randy had me in a tight spot.

I sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"Just get on your knees." He said, an evil glint in those blue gray eyes of his.

"Do you think I'm a prostitute or somet-" He stopped me harshly, his stance tensing.

"I said _get on your knees_." Randy pointed to the ground, and eased closer to me.

Me, the stubborn person I am, shook my head no. I had enough this when I was young, and now the same actions were going to be repeated. But I was not gonna let it happen, I wasn't some doll he could throw around.

Randy clenched his jaw, and turned around frustrated, and decided on his last chance. He lifted his coat jacket, flashing the barrel of a 9 mm gun. I gasped, thinking he was going crazy, the man I thought was my friend, was now forcing me to give head to him or shoot my brains out.

"Get on your knees or I'm gonna blow your brains out. It's your choice, and it's very easy one, you idiot." Randy played with the revolver and the trigger, his full attention on the lethal object.

I couldn't hide nor run, or the next thing I would feeling is a bullet at the back of my brain. I decided to push on to a different subject, just to get a little more info. "Aren't you supposed to catch a plane right now?"

"Well, Mr. Genius over here, got an extra week of vacation."

I sighed, the belt buckle on his pants already off. I eased closer, but stopped myself. No, I wasn't going to this, I was gonna risk my life over this. I shook my head no once again, and Randy grimly grunted, the gun pointed at me.

"Well, since you have a hard time listening to what your told, you're gonna pay the price." He clicked on the trigger, my eyes closed.

I opened them to nothing but him rapidly pulling on the trigger. I sighed in relief, but quickly drew back my breath. He walked quickly towards me, his hand raised above my head.

"You're not even worth it." He quickly brought it down, but no contact was made.

Randy walked out the house, talking to himself animatedly, while I stood in the corner trying to recover from the incident. I got up, trembling a little bit, and sat on her couch. I didn't understand what had just happened, I thought Randy was her friend. I remembered him trying to get in my pants, and now he wanted to kill me.

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><p><em>I walked around backstage, trying to find Punk's locker room and give him a surprise. Icrashed into a hard body and almost fell, but to be saved by the grasp of a random stranger. <em>

"_Sorry, about that." He muttered, and tried to look into my eyes._

_I fixed my hair, and was instantly captivated by the man in front of me. Who wouldn't? He was glistening and ready for his match. "Oh.. that's fine."_

"_I've never noticed you here, are you lost?"  
><em>

"_Yes and no. I'm looking for Punk's locker room." I walked beside him as we strolled casually down the hall._

_We walked for a couple minutes before Randy interrupted the silence."You're his girlfriend, right?"_

"_Surprisingly, no." I said, shyly, a bit of color staining my cheeks._

_We stopped in front of a place reading CM Punk, and raised his eyebrows at me."Thanks."_

"_No problem."_

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><p>Life was getting that much more complicated for me, and I didn't know if I could handle it. I contemplated about sleeping with a kitchen knife by my nightstand, but decided against the silly thought. Randy would be gone next week, and my problems with him would be over. Well, I hope.<p>

**Hope you enjoyed. Chapter 3 will be up soon.**


	3. Drug Boulevard

Chapter 3

Sometimes what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger…

I woke up in fear, sweat beads running down my forehead. It was just another nightmare but it wasn't about my childhood – it was about Randy. I still had the picture of the barrel of the gun pointing at my head and the click of the trigger. I wiped the sweat off and turned the light on. I felt like a little girl trapped in darkness, even when the light was on. That darkness was loneliness. I wondered if I'd ever stop being its slave and escape it. It seemed far away, I'd always been on my own.

I remembered the distant memory of my parents. I remembered my father's golden eyes and my mother's blue ones. Her pale complexion and my father's tanned one. The memory seemed so fresh, so unreal like a crisp white sheet of paper. But my parents had died twelve years ago. I still remembered the night I found them in their bed laying face down. To see the blood seeping out of their mouths and a message written on the wall - probably written in their blood. The police never found the killer. But what hurt the most was that they didn't die on their terms. They suffered a slow, agonizing death in front of their killer's eyes.

I shrugged the graphic memory off and continued staring into space. I thought about my life – how I would probably be crashing at some friend's house. My job had working at the pharmacy was over due to my addiction and working at a local Ralph's or Wal-Mart wasn't going to keep me living in my two bedroom house. Going back to school wasn't an option – I didn't have the time. I might have been abused but I've never been homeless.

And that was one thing that scared me senseless.

Yeah, I could ask Punk for some rent money. He wouldn't mind but I've already asked too much from him. He just being my friend is enough. My life is already too fucked up to be involved in. Still, he rather be involved than not involved at all. He just needed to have some fun and not worry about me. Even when I worried about him.

I reached under my bed and grabbed my painkillers. I shook the bright yellow prescription bottle not a single pill to be heard. I sighed and searched for the other ones. I was empty and my only resource had cut me off. I was desperate for something to ease the anxiousness I was feeling. I took other pills but painkillers were number one on my list. I knew this day would come but I didn't think at three in the morning. I let my head rest against the bedpost in misery.

Buying drugs off the street from teenagers ashamed me and the risk of getting caught was always present. Little kids, barely through middle school were standing in an alley selling drugs. It's wrong. But… then again who am I to be saying what they're doing is wrong? I was doing the same thing, something even ten times worse, letting myself get addicted to drugs.

I tried to remember when this all started and it took me a while. It all started when I had some pain in my legs and I decided to take home some painkillers. I thought the others wouldn't notice, they had been messing up on the pill count anyway. After that, I had begun taking the pills all time. Some days I would remember how many pills I had took and others I couldn't. I didn't like to know or even say I was addicted to drugs.

Hey, at least I didn't smoke.

I looked out the window and day was coming so I turned the light off. I just needed to get away. Without my pills, I felt like I was going die at any moment. It had been only three days since I took them. I readjusted myself to get more comfortable. I was starting to grow more anxious and more sweat ran down my forehead. I settled on getting sleep and rolled over to my side, closing my eyes. It felt like I was child that was forced to go to bed at six pm. I wasn't tired; I was nervous and crabby, for Pete's sake.

I was jobless, drugless, and on the verge of becoming homeless. If Punk learned about everything… I'd be screwed. He wouldn't believe his best friend is a drug addict or a pill popper. I'm sure he'd leave me high and dry - it would be his last straw. And it would be mine too.

I cursed and checked under the bed one more time and not a single bottle was full. I wanted to cry, to rip my pillow like a little girl and see the feathers come down like snow. I wanted out. I felt locked in a cage; a cage that had a key on the other side you couldn't reach. I could just stop taking the pills and endure withdrawal. It would all be over by then, if I had the courage. I was like a fat person addicted to cake; you couldn't get enough of it. And one day the thing you loved the most would end up being the thing that killed you. I played with my hands for some time, my eyes drifting south every once in a while to look at the slits on my wrists.

At least there one thing I could quit doing.

Sometimes I really thought about suicide; killing myself, ending this bullshit. I've hung the rope I wanted to hang myself on and stopped many times. Right before I would hang my neck, my mind would helplessly drift to the things I would miss.

It usually drifted to a person – Punk, of course.

I would step off the chair and internally yell at myself at how I could be risking my life and causing pain to _him._ But every time I stopped myself, it was only because of _him_; all because of Phil Brooks, that brash, outspoken, intelligent guy I called my best friend. He was the person who would tell me the truth or news I wouldn't want to hear or make me laugh at unexpected times. The list could go on and I would never find those qualities in anyone else.

My nose started running and I knew right away those were symptoms of withdrawal. I didn't want this to happen but I had no choice.

I wonder which alley those teenagers usually hang out in. I, sadly would be making a trip down Drug Boulevard.


	4. Strippers and Dancers

**A/N : Sorry, if it was a little late. Writer's block is trying to murder me. :P**

Chapter 4

Five in the morning…

At five in the morning, I was happy. Like a child who had won a goldfish at the carnival. I had my pills and they were all I needed. Well, at the moment. I was able to go back to sleep and slept peacefully. I woke up more tired than I was before I went back to sleep. I yawned miserably, knowing I couldn't go back to sleep, it was eleven. I looked around the room and of course it was a mess. Clothes lay on suitcases, plastic bags were scattered everywhere and the odor was somewhat bearable. I checked my phone and found two missed calls from Punk. I sighed with hidden happiness in my breath.

It gave me a chance to talk to him, without being a pain in the ass.

I ran my hand through my light brown hair and picked up the phone and dialed. My hand stayed on the end button, in case. On the seventh ring, he answered.

"Still sleeping, huh?" I asked, his voice sounded exhausted.

"Ryan, hey."

"Hey, yourself. What's up?"

"Listen..." His voice trailed off and I could have sworn I heard a voice in the background.

My shaky finger mistakenly pressed the red button and the tone went dead. I put the phone down and sat back in bed and thought. I'd been doing that a lot – sitting down and thinking. My stomach rumbled but I wasn't hungry. I couldn't even remember the last time I ate something. Other things more important were on my mind.

The voice I heard… belonged to a woman. A woman he didn't tell me about. Why wouldn't he tell her about me? I mean, what's there to hide? Is she a serial killer or a convict? I probably wouldn't like her and we wouldn't be best friends but I would tolerate her. For the sake of HIM_. _If she made him happy, then somewhere deep, deep inside, I would be happy for him.

But _something_ would always still be there.

Women had come and go around Punk. He'd already had his share of heartaches, he didn't need anymore. Punk stopped believing in finding the one. I wanted to tell him a long time ago to stop. There was no such thing such as finding the _one _or _love _at first sight. That stuff only lived in the fairytales I remembered my parents read to me. Believing in all that crap resulted in laying in bed moping. Yeah, I've done that a couple times but not over love.

I sincerely cared about him and seeing the way he had killed himself over those women made me want to go homicidal. But that nagging feeling of jealously was growing in my stomach, thinking of the woman lying beside him. I wondered what she looked like, if she had good intentions, and if I would like her. Well, that's if I ever got to meet her.

But if he loved that woman, lying in his arms at this very second, then I would maybe, just maybe, learn to believe in _love. _The thing so sacred, so delicate and it could be over in a matter of seconds. But people would run or do anything for love. To feel loved.

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><p>I finished daydreaming and got up and walked over the giant pile of garbage in my room. I put on my slippers and grabbed the car keys. I was in the mood to go for a drive and maybe for a job. I exited the community and purely drove. Seeing I was in my pajamas, and nearly nowhere presentable to leave the house, I decided not to stop anywhere. I drove by a bar and reversed and looked at the advertisement. It showed dollar signs and I was convinced.<p>

Maybe I wouldn't be living on the street anytime soon.

I parked and stayed in the car for a couple minutes, contemplating on leaving the car. I wasn't too stuck up on looking the best, but nor did I want to leave the car looking like a person who had been living in a cave. I checked my armpits and they smelled tolerable. I exited the car and walked with little pride.

I opened the door and entered the stripers and waitresses stopping to look at me. I sighed uncomfortably; they had given me _that _look. I asked a waitress where the manager's office was and she briefly pointed somewhere and returned back to her customers. I knocked and waited a bit before I was welcomed with a stern voice.

I entered and the manager hadn't looked up. He wouldn't know what he would be expecting. I stood up before clearing my throat and catching his attention. His head sharply lifted and his eyes scanned me over. Not in a good way.

"You'd be perfect." I was completely clueless by that phrase.

"Excuse me, sir, but for what?"

"To be a dancer, of course." So I look like a stripper?

"Uh, you don't-"

He had shoved a small piece of paper to me. "Just think about it."

I felt that it was the cue for me to leave, and I left. I drove home, the paper crumpled in my hands. I entered my house and walked to my room. I opened the door and hopped over piles of clothes onto my bed. I lay down and looked at the crumpled paper in my hands.

_Just think about it._

What else could I do? I needed money and I needed it fast. I didn't want it this way. Shaking my ass and letting some men rub me down sounded terrible. I was no stripper nor would I ever think of investing in that career.

But looking into it temporarily didn't sound so bad.

I picked up the paper and dialed the number, making sure my finger mistakenly didn't press the end call button.

"Hello?"

I sighed. "So when do I start?"

**Read and review. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. **


	5. Don't Get It

_A/N: Sorry, I left guys. I was just really busy and needed a break. I hope you guys read this chapter. Review, like always. xoxo._

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><p>I could hear the happiness in the manager's voice and it made my uneasiness cease a bit. I sighed and thought about what I had gotten myself into.<p>

_Stripping, old men touching and rubbing me down like some dirty whore._

_Good job, Ryan._

It would just be temporary, just for a little while, right? I wouldn't be doing this my whole life. I just needed a small place to work and not have me living on the streets.

Then I thought about Punk.

He would be shaking his head at me, not in judgment but in sadness. He would be saying I should have come to him.

Maybe he didn't know me as he thought.

Again, I ran a shaky hand through my light brown hair and got up. Trying to shake the sorrow out of soul – it was killing me. I bent down and picked up dirty clothes and threw it in the hamper. Cleaning wasn't so bad.

After throwing the last Skittles wrapper in the dustbin and turning on the tv to distract myself, I just couldn't take it anymore. I felt like a demon who so close to reaching haven, but wasn't there.

I felt like I was in a never ending battle with myself.

Sometimes ending this so called thing called _life_ would be the best of all. But I would be hurting someone.

And I just couldn't be so selfish to let him mourn over my selfishness.

Tears came to my eyes and I cursed a loud 'shit'. I was tired of this everyday and the longer I was away from my best friend the more it got me. Every Monday I would see him on my tv doing what he loved, what he worked his ass off of for.

He really gave a damn about that business – it wasn't just something to make time go by for him.

Seeing him smile and wipe his mouth after the referee held his hand high, made me somewhat happy. But that happiness would fade away slowly, leaving me feeling empty.

_That's life._

_Get over it._

Some stuck up bitch would have probably told me to shut the fuck up and stop sulking but I just couldn't. I looked at my painkillers and it just wasn't worth it.

I pulled off the cover and threw the capsules out the window and watched them hit the green grass. It felt good, like a refreshing drink of icy, cool water. I closed my eyes and sucked my breath.

_That's the spirit, Ry._

I would be paying the consequences much later, but I would live and not let some morphine take me down. This dickweed of a job would help pay the bills.

And that's all that mattered.

My phone rang and I immediately picked it up forgetting to look at the caller ID. I heard the tired voice of Punk and felt normal, okay.

"Hey, asshole." I said jokingly.

"Oh hey, bitch."

"What's up?"

"Not much, you know…the usual. Just tired that's all. I wish I could see you." He said tenderly.

I got a little soft and smiled. "Me too, when are you coming back? I miss you like crazy."

"Open your door, dumbass."

My heart dropped and the words sunk in. He was here in front of my door. I left my phone and went straight for the door in hopes of finding him. I opened the door and could see a tired Punk looking at me through his green eyes, smiling.

I hugged him, inhaling his usual scent of a mixture of cologne. Being in his arms, it made me feel all warm inside. As if nothing bad could happen.

It felt _right._

I let go and kissed his cheek, while he kissed mine.

He followed me into the hose and I led him to the living room. This room held a lot memories for him and me. He sat on the couch while I sat on the armchair on his left. Punk swung his arm over the edge of the couch comfortably.

He stared at me for the longest time. "Well, Ry, what's going on? How are you? Tell me something."

I grinned and the old thoughts made me hold a tight-lipped smile. "I'm good."

"_I don't think so."_ Punk squinted and searched me in his wise, run down eyes. I hated when he looked at like that. I felt as I was a foreign creature dropped off in the middle of nowhere with bunch of onlookers staring at me. I wasn't a piece of art.

"Ry, you know you can trust me." He gulped. "With anything, right?"

I sighed and shook my head to myself. I didn't want to go through the same crap I went through in the hospital twice in a row. "I know, Phil. _I know."_

He knew me all too well, by he was already exasperated. I was lying. "Cut the bullshit and just be honest with me, Ryan. It's all I ask for."

I looked down, not because of tears or anything, because I felt like I was being judged. I looked up at him through silted eyes. "You just don't get it, do you?

"Get what?"

"Never mind." I got and went to my room.

Everything was crashing down and I was the one to always endure it. And somehow I always did. I sat on my bed, lost and not really knowing what to think. I was numb.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I didn't have to ask who it was and after not answering, he barged in. He saw a glance of my face and sighed.

We hated when we fought – but we always did, anyway.

He sat next to me and put his arm around me, knowing that his words wouldn't get through to me. I was numb, remember?

"Phil." I said when he thought I was a goner. I was still awake after all this time.

He looked me in the eye, concerned. "Yeah?"

It was so easy to come out and say everything, but my breath got hitched in my throat and no words came out. They just couldn't. No matter how much I wanted them to come out.

I was scared, like a fucking chicken.

"I never got to ask how you were." I made it up off the tip of tongue and it worked.

He cleared his throat, somewhat shocked that such a serious moment was being broken by my statement. "I'm good."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes; this son of a bitch always knew how to get under my fucking nerves. "Oh really?"

"_Really."_

He got more comfortable with his arm around my shoulder while I leaned on his head. I just wanted to stay like this forever, because I wouldn't have to face reality.

Like when I would get up and go to 'work' tomorrow.

I turned over and looked at him. He seemed lost in the painting that hung on my wall. Punk knew very well I was staring at him, but was used to it.

"You're still here." I almost whispered my voice dry.

"Oh. I never really noticed that." He replied sarcastically.

I smiled and slapped his arm. He laughed and fell off the bed.

Unfortunately, while he fell he grabbed my wrist.

He was hovering above me and I looked into his dark green orbs, getting lost in them. I felt a pull and his lips crashed down on mine. There was no way I would protest, I'd be waiting for this way too long. I enjoyed his lips, they weren't soft like cotton candy nor were they too dry. They were just right.

He pulled away, my eyes still closed until I opened them, disoriented. "Ryan."

"Hmm?" I was still in a haze.

"I don't regret that."

"Neither do I." His lips crashed down on mine once more.

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><p><em>Review! xo.<em>


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